


The lantern's light casts shadows still, even from beyond the veil

by Hierophantastic



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Beast Greg of a sorts, Brother Feels, Brothers, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Good Brother Wirt, Greg is Sweet, Humour, I just like The Oh Hellos okay, I'm fairly certain I'm either overusing or misusing comma's, It's just Wirt and Greg dealing with their not-quite-human state of being, Lantern-Bearer Wirt, No Plot/Plotless, Paranormal Predicaments, Post-Canon, Returning to the Unknown, Sara and Wirt's awkward teen romance, Slice of Life, Supernatural Shenanigans, The Unknown (Over the Garden Wall), Wirt Thinks Too Much, Wirt's Poetry, but not really, except i suck at writing romance so don't expect too much of it, shitty wanna be poetic titles, they've got great lyrics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hierophantastic/pseuds/Hierophantastic
Summary: Before they made it out, the Unknown had already claimed the two brothers. Now that they're back home it still doesn't seem to want to let them go.Or, Wirt leaves, and thinks, and listens, hearing the trees whisper in the wind. Greg leaves, and lives, and laughs, and his eyes glow with all the colours of the rainbow. They couldn't stay away forever.
Relationships: Gregory & Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), Sara & Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), Sara/Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), The Beast & Gregory (Over The Garden Wall), The Beast & Wirt, Wirt and Greg's mother/Greg's father
Comments: 11
Kudos: 100





	1. Briefly, I dreamt the skies were blue, but storm clouds were just out of view

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [we are, we are, we are monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12720435) by [Yevynaea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yevynaea/pseuds/Yevynaea). 



> So apparently there are three tags for Jason Funderberker, which are Jason Funderberker, Gregory's Frog | Jason Funderberker, and Jason Funderberker (Human). I love it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He said to me, 'Child, I'm afraid for your soul  
>  These things that you're after, they can't be controlled  
> This beast that you're after will eat you alive  
> And spit out your bones.'"_
> 
> ~Eat You Alive, The Oh Hellos

Wirt's not the same after he returns. Everyone can tell he's not. They see it in how he acts, hear it in how he speaks. He's more confident, but has also developed a dislike for the dark that wasn't there before. There are things that make him uncomfortable now, odd things, like operatic music or balls of wool. His mother saw him once talking to a bluebird. There's only so much trauma from a near-death experience can clarify, but considering he seems to be doing all right and Greg is always ready with colourful tales to clarify his odd behaviour, at which Wirt gives a little nervous but fond laugh, nobody really thinks much of it. 

Wirt's not the same after he returns, they can tell. But Wirt, he can _feel_ it.

He wonders how much of himself he left behind in that place.

* * *

He's sitting on the grassy slope that borders the lake, the one that sent him tumbling down into that weird, possibly imagined, realm where he nearly died and had the biggest adventure he was ever possibly going to have. It's been a few days since then. Greg and him had no damage beyond a few scrapes from their fall and Wirt thinks he's doing okay, but the teacher at school today had gone off on a tangent explaining why drugs are bad and it sent Wirt thinking once more.

He misses Beatrice, he thinks, and he wonders how she and her family are doing now that they're not bluebirds anymore. He wonders whether or not the Woodsman extinguished the Dark Lantern, if he's happy now with the knowledge that his daughter is gone. He wonders about Lorna and her auntie Whispers, about Uncle Endicott and Marguerite Grey and Fred the Horse, about the odd figures he'd encountered in the tavern, about Miss Langtree and if she's maybe Mistress Langtree now. Or would it be Mistress Brown?

He wonders if any of it had been real.

Jason Funderberker (the frog, not the human) hasn't sung since they left and Wirt is not sure whether or not he's happy about that. Greg isn't, which is understandable because the frog had a surprisingly nice voice, but if he can't sing then the Unknown might not have been real. Simply a figment of his imagination, possibly helped along by hallucination-inducing chemicals in the water, that had been conjured by his subconsciousness up to deal with the the trauma of nearly dying and rearranging it all into something he could actually cope with. Like terrifying nightmare monsters that turned children into trees and liked to sing opera. Which he then shared with Greg via... what, telepathy? Or maybe said chemical contaminating the lake gave them similar dreams? And the frog they found just before that must have swallowed a bell just before _that,_ which he then puked out in the hospital.

Yeah.

Right.

He doesn't think so either.

Wirt sighs and digs his finger into the earth around him. The ground is a still wet from yesterday's rain, but his coat is just long enough for him to sit on it so he doesn't dirty his pants. It would be much easier with his cape, though, and he briefly ponders about when he started thinking of his thrown-together Halloween costume as everyday clothes. Although he thinks more of them as travel clothing, and travelling is what a pilgrim does, so it makes sense. If he really were a pilgrim.

How could he be the hero of his own story if he isn't even completely sure whether or not that story was _real,_ he thinks. Wirt has been thinking a lot lately. Too much, according to his mother, a sentiment Greg heartily agreed with. Alas, it is the nature of the poet to lament about his life and question his existence.

"Like a bird flying north during spring's time, longing to return to the land where it escaped the cold, but still chasing the sun back to its home. I now yearn for a place I do not belong, yet while there all I thought of was the land where I was grown," he sighs dramatically, his voice being much surer now he's certain nobody is around to hear him. He may have gained a little confidence, but he doesn't need everyone to hear his improvised poetry.

That said, it's not as if Wirt wants to go back forever, because he _likes_ being back. He likes being back home, where things make sense. He likes that Sara wants to hang out with him and thinks he's a nice guy. He likes that he's finally realised he's not the social pariah he thought himself to be simply because he enjoyed _clarinet and poetry_ (who'd have thought almost dying and returning from the perhaps-afterlife would help his people skills).

He especially likes living with Greg without being a stupid older brother who doesn't see how great the little goofball is, and he likes not holding a grudge against the man his mother wants to spend her life with simply because he's not the man his mother wanted to sped her life with _first,_ even if he doesn't call him dad. No matter how much he misses his father, his mom deserves to be happy. It's not as if anyone could do anything about his father being six feet under.

That makes him wonder if his father has been to the Unknown. Maybe he knows Beatrice! Or...

Wirt frowns, his nose scrunched up, as he thinks about his father being one of the skeletons in Pottsfield. Don't get him wrong, they were great guys, but a little... terrifying. 

So yes, he likes being back. And still, there's a... a pull, a rope, constantly tugging his thoughts back to those memories of that place. Wirt hasn't felt like this, ever. He's familiar with what homesickness feels like (he'll never forget those days he spent with one of his uncles, whose idea of a healthy breakfast consisted of sugar in many different forms, some of which even had a little bread with them, and enough coffee to keep you going for a week). This is different. It doesn't feel like its coming entirely from him.

He closes his eyes and lays his head down, feeling frustrated. The grass rustles in the wind, almost whispering. The words fall from his lips without much thought or melody, more murmured than sung.

_"Grow, tiny seed, you are gone to the tree."_ His voice is soft, but he's not paying attention so he doesn't hear the approaching footsteps clumsily climbing down the slope. _"Rise, 'till your leaves fill the sky-"_

"What are you singing? Did you write it?" Sara's curious voice makes Wirt jolt up, a damp patch on the back of his head. He lifts his hand to comb his hair into something resembling presentable, or he tries to. His fingers are caught in something, and when he looks down they are entwined in grass, bound around his hand like restraints.

Wirt freezes for a moment, thinking the brown colour of the dead grass to be an entirely different plant, before yanking his hand free and pulling some roots from the ground as well. His breath catches in his throat, only dislodging when Sara talks again. "Wirt?" she asks. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah! Sure, uhm, why would I not be. Okay, that is." He combs through his wet hair, accidentally dirtying them with the earth and grass on his hands. "I am certainly okay, is my answer. And hello, too. And I wasn't singing, really, it was..." It was... what had he been singing? He'd never heard it before. Maybe he is a better improviser than he thought.

The text echoes through his head, and he very much doubts that. Shaking his head, he turns back to Sara and blushes slightly when he sees her scrutinising him. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Wirt asks.

Sara looks at him a little suspicious or maybe worried, before she cracks a grin at the state of his hair. "Just checking up on you. You've come here a lot lately. I'd have thought you wouldn't want to be anywhere near this place."

Wirt sighs, part relief and part annoyance. While Sara is far from the worst offender, seeing as she at least doesn't dance around what happened, she still seemed to think he needed someone to check up on him. Not that he didn't want Sara to hang out with him, but she shouldn't need to do it out of worry. "Thank you, but I'm fine. Really. And as for this place..." he gestured around him, "It's... calming, I suppose."

Sara looks around, listens to the water flow, to the cicadas sing, and yeah, she can see why he'd say that. Still. She offers him a hand to help him up. "Come on. Jason said he got tickets for this new movie. You wanna go see it?" Wirt frown-pouts in that weird way he does whenever Jason Funderberker (the human, not the frog) is mentioned and she stifles a chuckle at his expression. A small smile makes its way to her lips anyway. Then he takes her hand (and Sara does _not_ blush, and neither does Wirt) and gets up. He mutters a little, kicking the grass away from his feet, which is odd, but Wirt has done a lot odd little things lately and none of them have changed who he is. She ignores it. 

Wirt looks at her smiling face, smiles back, and ignores the grass tugging at his feet, tangling up his shoelaces, not wanting him to go. Wirt hasn't felt the same since he left the Unknown. He feels like he left behind something important. 

"Yeah, I'd love to see a movie with you. What is it about?"

He feels like he's gained several important things by returning home, however.

He holds her hand a little longer before he lets go and follows Sara back to town. There's an old lantern sitting near the gate through the cemetery wall, and Wirt's eyes linger on it. The grass underfoot turns into the dirt paths of the cemetery, which turns into the stone pavement as they enter the town proper. He hadn't noticed it before, but Wirt feels slightly empty by the lack of plants. It's nothing like the woods. There are hedges, carefully cultivated, and trees lining the road, but...

It's quiet, he thinks. The wind blows, the leaves rustle, whisper, murmur-

And they're not saying anything. Which is ridiculous. Why would he expect plants to say anything? Wirt rubs his face again, shooting Sara a reassuring smile when she raises a questioning eyebrow. They're close to the cinema now. "Don't look so worried. Unless you're thinking about whether or not we have enough time to buy popcorn before the movie starts."

Sara laughs and shoots him a smile, which causes Wirt to feel an unearthly kind of joy, because _he made Sara laugh and smile at him!_ Jason Funderberker, Rhondi, and Kathleen are waiting at the entrance with the tickets. Jason's presence sours his mood a little, but he also has popcorn ready, so it's okay. It's not as if Sara is smiling at him like she was at Wirt, so there. He can be a big man about this.

Rhondi, ever perceptive, shoots him a look that clearly states she's not buying his bull droppings. Wirt, who's a big man, ignores her.

* * *

It's nine days after their return that he has the dream that is not a dream. Of course he's dreamt of the Unknown before, and so has Greg. They're vague dreams mostly, of their friends, all happy and safe. Sometimes they are nonsensical in that way only dreams are and forgotten the moment they wake. And sometimes they dream of shadows of a shadow. He still remembers how Greg had looked, sneaking into his room after they were discharged from the hospital, because his little brother knew Wirt would protect him the Beast.

He still remembered how Greg had looked, cold and alone with branches binding him as he coughed up leaves. All because Wirt gave up. And he still trusted his brother to keep him safe. That trust warms Wirt's heart as well as it steels his resolve, because he knows it's a serious responsibility now. It's something he should have known much earlier.

But this night when Wirt dreams of the Unknown, Greg is in his own room. Wirt is lying in his bed, falls asleep, and when he opens his eyes he can see stars above him and feels snow underneath him instead of his bed. He stands up. Looks around. Realises where he is, and lastly he notes the lack of dreamy acceptance that _yes, being back in this place I nearly died to escape makes perfect sense_ which is always present whenever he dreams he's back.

And Wirt knows this isn't just a dream. That the Unknown hadn't been just a dream.

The first thing he feels is fear. Fear that the last nine days hadn't been real, fear that they never made it out, that they never _would_ make it out, that Greg _where's Greg he can't see Greg-_

The second thing, when he realises Greg is nowhere near him and finally notices that he is wearing his pyjamas and not his Halloween costume, is relief, that Greg must be out there and he simply came back here, for whatever reason.

He simply came back here. When he realises that the third thing he feels is, strangely enough, excitement. He can go see how everyone is doing now! Greg had been talking a lot about how Beatrice must be struggling with not being magic anymore (earning a few exasperated looks from his parents) and Wirt would be happy to put his (probably unfounded) worries to rest. He looks around for a way out of the clearing he's in and does find an opening that might resemble a path, but it's covered in snow so he can't be sure.

Wirt walks towards it, around the large tree that stands in the centre of the clearing, his hands coming up to rub his shoulders in the cold wintry air. He misses his Halloween costume, he thinks, and no sooner does the thought cross his mind and the clothes on his body change. Light-blue pyjamas turn into a white shirt, grey pants, and a navy cloak falls around his shoulders. "What-" he mutters, interrupted by the red cone-hat falling over his eyes. He readjusts it and inspects his outfit. He thinks of his pyjamas, and his clothes change back again. "Huh," he muses. Another thought, and his Halloween costume is back. That is pretty useful. Although he is certain he couldn't do that the first time-

A voice speaks, and Wirt freezes, even his thoughts freeze, as the realisation of where he _exactly_ is hits him like the deep voice of a nightmare horror thought dead.

"So," the Beast says from behind him, "It _is_ you. I thought I recognised you, but with that hat it is undeniable."

Wirt swallows, steeling himself before he has to face the old monster, the shadow with those searchlight eyes. When he turns around he doesn't see what he's expecting. The tree in the centre is the reddish-brown colour of edelwood, the rough bark distorted by the various faces of his victims, their mouths wide open in perpetual screams, and the wind whistling through the holes makes it sound like they haven't lost their voice yet. The monster's antlers have grown larger, branching out to the sky, like hands grasping hungrily at the stars to regain the light that once occupied the Beast's eyes. Above the dark hole that is its own mouth, those eyes still hold the tiniest spark, the tiniest sign that it is still alive.

The reason for that is clear. It seemed the Woodsman had not been thorough enough in extinguishing the lantern. The Beast's arms are thrust forward as if they had been reaching for something when it turned into this, and Wirt could guess what. The Dark Lantern hangs from one of the claw-like hands, making the Beast look like the world's most terrifying lamppost. Behind the glass, inside the metal frame, Wirt can still see a tiny flame, the last remains of the Beast's old soul. 

"Did you really expect it to be that easy to kill me, child?" it speaks again, and Wirt notes its voice is a little weaker than before. The deep timbre has lost it's smoothness and it sounds as if its struggling to talk. "That just blowing out the flame would end a life older than you think possible in a heartbeat?" 

"You're dying, aren't you?" Wirt shoots back, a little unsure. He takes a step back and does not know why he doesn't just run. "Sounds to me like it's ending your life just fine, even if it's a little slow to do so." The words leave a nasty taste in his mouth, and the Beast scoffs in answer.

"Children these days, no respect for their elders. Talking about murder without even flinching. But you are right," the Beast admits easily to Wirt's surprise. "I am dying. I live with this world, and this world lives with me. We shall end together as well."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Wirt asks. It sounds worrying. The Beast lets out a sigh, a gust of wind leaving its mouth.

"I tried to prolong my life and recover my waning strength by using oil from the edelwood trees and absorbing their life force, but all things die, especially old things. The last remains of my soul are burning up as we speak." The Beast's hand twitches and the sound of creaking wood can be heard as it tries to curl its fingers around the lantern's handle. "And as I am dying, this world will die with me. It needs an anchor into humanity's world and its dreams, lest it will cease to exist." 

"You are making no sense at all. I'm just going to-" Wirt jerks a thumb over his shoulder, but still doesn't move.

"What exactly do you think the Unknown is, child?" the Beast asks. Wirt stays quiet. "It is a dream. It is the world where all things humankind could and couldn't dream up reside. It is a place of fantasy born out of the imagination of people." In lieu of facial expressions, the Beast's eyes, however dim, stay fixed on Wirt with an unwavering intensity the boy can not return. "It needs an anchor to humanity's dreams, a link to the very thing that defines its reality. Destroy that link, and you destroy the Unknown."

Wirt scowls. "And how are you supposed to be a 'link to humanity's dreams'?"

The Beast laughs, some of his old vigour returning and it makes Wirt shiver. "Fear of the Unknown has been part of humankind's dreams since apes started walking upright, child. But I am not that old. No, I was human once." Wirt starts, and takes in the tree-like thing whose skin is covered in the screaming faces of his victims.

"What?" he asks, voice high in disbelief. "How did-" He makes an all-encompassing gesture at the Beast's decidedly non-human form.

"I entered the Unknown once, when I was mortal. The previous keeper was dying and it claimed me then. My soul had to stay in this realm to make sure it stayed linked and in my dreams I would return here to oversee things. Eventually, when my mortal body started failing I came to live here permanently." There was an aura of nostalgia around the creature, oddly enough, as his eyes start drifting. "But like I said, all things end. I cannot keep the fire lit any longer and when my soul sputters out, so too will the Unknown and everyone in it. Unless..." His eyes find Wirt's again, who wraps his cape a little tighter around his body.

"Unless what?" Wirt asks.

"Unless you take the Dark Lantern and continue my duty." 

Wirt's eyes widen. If he doesn't do it everyone in the Unknown would die. But if he does do it... "You said the edelwood was to prolong your lifespan beyond its natural length-"

"It is not necessary. But the feeling of your soul being fuelled by another person's life force... The _power_ you feel..." The Beast sighs wistfully, like a normal person might sigh about their favourite food, and Wirt is once again reminded that this _is_ a monster.

"I have no reason to trust you, especially not after you deceived Greg and the Woodsman," Wirt shoots back warily.

"And I have no reason to lie." The Beast stops talking, his thoughts suddenly somewhere else. "I have to say, though, I didn't expect you to be the one it wanted. Your brother seemed much more suitable for this task."

"You stay away from Greg!"

"Calm yourself, child. I am merely saying it's odd he's not here. After all, he sold himself willingly to me and by extent to the Unknown, and has proven to have a wild imagination. Then again, he is still a child. He might not understand the gravitas of this task. He might accidentally extinguish the lantern and doom all his friends." Wirt stops himself from saying Greg isn't _that_ big of an idiot, or else the monster might actually decide that his little brother would be perfectly suitable for the task in question. Someone has to do it, however. And if the Beast can be trusted, which is doubtful at best, does Wirt really have a choice? He'd never forgive himself if he let everyone die.

"Very well," he decides, hands already reaching for the Dark Lantern. The Beast lived as a human while simultaneously overseeing the Unknown, so it's not as if he would have to say goodbye to his home forever. "I'll do it."

"As if there was ever any doubt," the Beast says patronisingly. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, lantern-bearer." The Beast's eyes and the fire in the lantern flicker one last time, then die down just as quickly when Wirt pries the vessel from the tree's hands. The Beast is truly dead now, he thinks, and doesn't know if he should feel guilty for being an accomplice to what's technically murder. He doesn't have time to figure it out, however, because pain shoots through his body. Wirt falls on his knees in the snow, managing to land the lantern upright. It _hurts so much_ just to touch it, it feels like his very being is being sifted like sand and his hand burns as his grip around the Dark Lantern's handle tightens.

Wirt screams, his raw voice full of emotions he can't identify, and then after an eternal second it's over. A soft, flickering light illuminates the clearing. Wirt sits there, knelt in front of the monstrous tree now devoid of life, and stares with mesmerised eyes at the way his soul, red and yellow and orange, dances in the metal vessel. He breathes in. He breathes out. Closes his eyes.

And wakes up.

* * *

After he wakes up, the first thing Wirt tries to do is convince himself that that dream meant nothing. He finds himself unable to do so. He can _feel_ that it was real. The tugging that had haunted him since he left the Unknown has grown stronger in the span of a night, so much that he can't ignore it. He can live with it, however. His body moves as he wants it to, his hands obey when he tells them to take of his pyjama shirt and get ready for the day, so he can live with it. But then Wirt feels the chilly air on his skin and lets out a shivery breath, and that is when he realises the enormity of what happened.

Because Wirt exhales again, then inhales, and then holds his breath. And holds it. And holds it. And lets it out only when his mother calls from downstairs to get ready for school. His breath doesn't come out with anymore force than it entered, nor does he start gasping for fresh oxygen as he normally would do. It's simply air that enters and leaves his mouth. He closes his eyes firmly, trying not to panic. Of course, that only makes it worse.

For a moment the pull strengthens until his vision shifts from closed eyelids to barren trees and white snow, and he can feel the shadow of antlers on his head and a lantern in his hand, but when his eyes shoot open he's back in his room again. Wirt takes a few steps toward the mirror that hangs in his room and lets out a relieved breath, purely out of habit, when he sees he looks completely normal. 

Wirt gave his soul away, trusting in the words of a devil. Consequences, he chides himself. A link between this world and the Unknown, the Beast had called it. It would seem that link went both ways. 

Wirt changes into his clothes and decides to try and ignore that for as long as possible.


	2. My guilt is far from set in stone, yet I can't blame the same old goat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Brother, forgive me  
>  We both know I'm the one to blame  
> When I saw my demons  
> I knew them well and welcomed them  
> But I'll come around."_
> 
> ~The Lament of Eustace Scrubb, The Oh Hellos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones a lot shorter, I know, but I seriously doubt I'm gonna be able to have 4k words for every chapter. 
> 
> Also this takes place like the night/day after they return from the Unknown, and it's just feels.

The hospital are comfortable, much more than the last place where Wirt remembers falling asleep. They're soft and clean and warm, and there's a distinct lack of bugs or plants or branches creeping, crawling, _growing, claiming-_

Wirt feels dead-tired and the beds are comfortable, but he can't sleep. The shadows around him don't help, as they feel thicker and deeper than he ever remembered shadows being able to be. He tosses and turns under his sheets, looking for a position that won't have him gazing into the dark, eventually coming to rest facing the ceiling.

"Greg?" he calls softly in the dark hospital room. No other sound follows except for his brother's loud snoring. Greg must be tired as well.

"I'm sorry, Greg," Wirt continues quietly. "It's my fault we're in the hospital. I shouldn't have been so stupid. I should have just talked to Sara, or go frog-hunting with you, or do literally anything _but_ panicking and blaming you and we almost drowned and-"

Wirt takes a breath to get his voice under control. There is so much more he wants to apologise for, but he doesn't even know if what had happened was _real._ If it wasn't for the bell that Jason Funderberker had spit out and was now resting on Greg's nightstand, he'd have written it off as a dream. Probably. "I'm sorry, Greg, for everything," he settles on. "For Halloween, and how I acted in- in that place, no matter if it was real or not. And everything I did before that. I'll be a better brother from now on." It's quiet again, only Wirt's breathing disturbing the silence. Wirt frowns. It's _too_ quiet.

"That's stupid," he hears Greg say from much too close. Wirt shoots up in surprise and looks to where the voice came from. How did Greg manage to soundlessly walk through the dark room without bumping into anything, anyway? When he sees Greg's eyes, however, they are giving off an alarmingly familiar pale white light. Wirt blinks and rubs his own eyes and Greg looks normal again. It must have been his imagination.

"What is stupid?" he asks, wondering how much his brother had heard. He didn't hear when the snoring stopped. The mattress dips as Greg climbs onto his bed.

"You're already the best brother. You can't get any better," Greg states and snuggles against him. Wirt opens his mouth a few times, only to close it again. He's not sure what to say.

"Why are you in my bed?" he finally asks. Greg mumbles something he can't quite hear. "What did you say?"

"They wouldn't let Jason Funderberker sleep with me," Greg says. 

"Ah," Wirt realises, "Such is the mind of a child, to hold value only to what is near and not the loved ones that are away." Greg gives him a blank smile that Wirt knows to mean he hadn't understood a thing he just said. "I'm the replacement for your frog," Wirt translates.

"Of course not!" Greg says indignantly. "Nobody could replace Jason Funderberker! You're way to dry, and not as good at singing anyway." Wirt lets out an offended 'hey!', but pulls the sheets out from under Greg to tuck his brother in. He chuckles as Greg wraps himself in, not really minding the lack of cover. It's not that cold. 

"Go to sleep, Greg. Mom and your dad will come pick up us tomorrow." He hears Greg mumble that Greg's dad is his dad too from within his cocoon, and for once doesn't argue and try to explain why that's not true. The two of them fall asleep in the single person bed, and the last thought that goes through Wirt's head is that the hospital staff probably won't be happy if either of them fall out and hit their head.

* * *

They're deemed healthy enough to leave the hospital the next day. All their tumble down the hill had left them with was a few bruises, no lasting damage at all. And a frog. Wirt would have thought his mom would have made a bigger deal out of Jason Funderberker, but she seemed far too happy they were all right for her to care. To drive that point home, she wraps the brothers in a tight embrace when she comes to pick them up. Over her shoulder, Wirt can see John, Greg's dad, watching with a relieved look.

They catch each other's eyes and, after a moment of hesitation, Wirt shoots him a grateful smile. There's the slightest hint of surprise on John's face but it's quickly overtaken by joy as he smiles back.

"I was so worried!" mom sniffles in their shoulders, the scolding she had been too worried to deliver yesterday finally coming from her mouth. "The police called after you jumped over that wall and they heard the train- Why did you do that? That was so stupid of you! And dangerous!"

"Wirt was taking me on a frog hunt!" Greg piped up, and Wirt's not sure if he's sincere or not. 

"Wirt! You shouldn't take Greg near the rails, you _know_ this!" Wirt pulls back a little.

"I didn't do it on purpose! I was just- er, there were police, and I, uhm-" he was kind of panicking because of the possibility that Sara might hear the tape he made for her, and _still hasn't let her listen to._ "I thought it'd be fine," he finishes weakly, deciding that taking the blame is the better option when compared to eternal embarrassment. And it was sort of his fault anyway.

Mom sighs and, after a last tight hug, lets them go. Greg immediately races towards his father, giving him a tight hug and Wirt remains by his mother's side, a little awkwardly. She sighs again, but this time it's a little sadder, and it's a sadness he's seen many times on her, ever since she remarried and he decided to be a stubborn child. It hurts a little to realise the sadness is something else he can take the blame for. So when John shoots him a look and hesitantly opens his arm so he can join them, Wirt steps forward and gives him a little half-hug before quickly stepping back. When he catches his mother's eye, her smile is a little more teary than before. He grabs her hand and gives it a light squeeze.

"Can we go home now?" Wirt asks, voice low. It feels like he hasn't been home in forever. Greg loudly agrees. They exit the hospital, and there's a light breeze blowing. Wirt's attention is briefly captured by the leaves and the way they rustle in the wind, but Greg's voice is too excited for Wirt to be able to ignore it. Especially when he's ringing that bell like a man possessed.

"Yeah! We haven't been home in forever, and I didn't get to tell you everything yesterday! We met uncle Endicott, and auntie Whispers, and Lorna who was possessed by an evil spirit, and-" Mom and John share a fond look over Greg's head. Wirt doubts they missed Greg's ramblings because to them it must have been only a night, but they must have been afraid at the thought that they might have to miss it forever in the future.

Wirt swallows as the thought of what could have happened truly sinks in, in the light of the morning sun. It vanishes when John opens the car doors and a familiar amphibian jumps out. "Jason Funderberker! Did you come all this way to see me?" Greg exclaims happily. Mom's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Wirt can barely hear her mutter that she was certain she had left the frog home.

A laugh escapes Wirt, and he sees his mother's lips quirk up as well, before they enter the car and head home, finally. In the backseat of the car, Wirt wraps an arm around Greg without any real reason to and presses him close, messing up his hair with the other hand like he's seen Sara do with her siblings, albeit a little more stiffly. Greg giggles and rings his bell. "Stop, Wirt! The ringing of the bell commands you!"

Wirt pretends not to notice their parent's happy glances in the rear-view mirror. It's good to be home.


End file.
